The Scraplands
by Count Lazuli
Summary: Planet Earth has perished long ago, and Humanity with it. The Cult of Megatronus Prime spreads its influence across the sad dead world now occupied by machines alone. The violent outlaw named Hellfire is one of many who would rather take their chances with a life of savagery, rather than join a monarchy trying to extend it's reach beyond the events of the Cybertronian war.
1. Hellfire I: The Encounter

The sun this day was sealed away by an endless sheet of dense, dark clouds. The sky has been this way for numerous decades. The rest of the landscape is no different, either. For the longest time, lifeless dunes, dried lakebeds, and dirt robbed of any plant or moisture has made up the landmasses of Planet Earth. But a day like this was any day. And on this day, four Cybertronians stood on the highway, under the oppressively blotted sky.

On one side, three figures of old faded forms. Their frames are battered and rusted, dents and scratches decorate their hulls. On each of them, there is the symbol of what appears to be an ancient helmet painted on with a crude white dye. The Center figure is holding a blaster in one hand while the other two next to her have energon rifles with the same rough insignia decaled onto their weapons. These three figures are of the same faction as their markings imply. A fairly recent faction in history, but one that is quickly gaining power across the Scraplands.

About 100 ft across from them, staring with death in his optics, is a bot with no mercy in his heart for these three unlucky sparks. A Hunched figure decked out in a rusty, dull brown that may have been a bright orange long ago. But the only orange on this figure were his four piercing optics, accompanied by his maw of knife-like teeth. Sharp spines of broken debris coat his back like a cruel animal while barb wire is danced all about his torso.

 _"_ _You can drive and drive all you want, Hellfire."_ The Female Cybertronian in the center of the trio said with a tilt of her head. _"But the eyes of Megatronus see everywhere. And our priest demands that you return what belongs to him."_

The Sinister being known as Hellfire snarled before replying with his raspy voice. _"Priest? Is that what he goes by now?" You are all either gullible little fucks, or don't give no shit where your loyalty is at as long as you get bellies full of energon! "_

Hellfire raised his left arm up; making sure his outer forearm was visible to his adversaries. Parts and plates shifted about as inner pieces pushed out and formed a long, thin, almost sword-like chainsaw with a pipe of white light running down the middle of it.

 _"_ _And if Boneyard thinks this weapon here belongs to him now? Then I've got one loud message to give him. So do me a solid and send this message to him!"_

With that, Hellfire thrust his chainsaw arm to the side as he put his other arm forward. The parts around his forearm quickly shaped into a robust rifle equipped with five steel barrels. Hellfire lived up to his namesake as gusts of flame blasted out of vents on his rifle with every bullet fired in the direction of the targets.

The figure in the middle stumbled backwards, taking in the damage as she returned the fire with her pistol. Her two side guards jumped out of the line of fire as they pointed their own rifles and did the same. Blasts fired across the highway as the four figures shifted about, throwing bullets from their barrels at one another. Eventually the first of the two guards bit the dust as Hellfire's bullets exploded in his iron gut and set him in a screaming blaze.

 _"_ _You will be avenged, Brother!"_ The Warrior cried as she witnessed her comrade's burning chassis collapse onto the cracked soil beyond the road. _"It is time to send you back into the abyss, animal! For the land of the one and infinite!"_ Her chest pieces opened up, and from within a large rail gun formed from the mechanisms. The rail gun launched a brutal shot at Hellfire that sent him flying into a broad hill with a loud crack that echoed through the Scrapland air.

The two attackers began to close in on Hellfire as the leader continued. _"You could have been saved if you had joined the faith. The Cult would have given you a chance at the Salvation of Darkmount. But you chose the path of the damned instead. The Scraplands will swallow you like the rest."_ The Cultist's Rail gun had begun preparing a second shot to finish off Hellfire.

" _Goodbye, Hellfire. May you rust in piec-."_

Her sentence was cut off as the Chainsaw on Hellfire's wrist was thrust into the barrel of her rail gun. The Cultist burst open into violent confetti of energon and scraps of metal as the shot fired. Hellfire stumbled backwards from the force of the blast but quickly turned and cut the second guard's waist in half before anything could be done.

As Hellfire coughed and attempted to maintain balance after his injuries, the guard spat energon in shock as his upper half fell back onto the ground, his lower half falling forward at the feet of his killer.

The Cultist guard looked up into the dank sky, mumbling his few final words before going offline. _"For the one and Infinite..."_

Hellhook retracted his weaponry back into his arms as he fell to his knees, crawling towards the lower half of the guard. The Animalistic Cybertronian took the gaping waist of the broken bot and began gorging on the bright blue energon running from the open wound for sustenance.

* * *

Having taken on the alternate mode of a rusty muscle car covered in junk, Hellfire took back to the road after he was finished with what he does. What many do. One of the many brutal but necessary acts committed by the denizens of the Scraplands of dead Earth.


	2. Hellfire II: The Plutonium Plaza

The bulk of Earth is a vast canvas of lifeless sand and parched dirt. One will most often find a bot or two attempting to traverse these landscapes in search of Energon, some scrap metal to add layers to armour, or even find some new hunk of metal as a new alternate form. Unless one sees value in high walls and sturdy shelters, a bot that avoids the life of a nomad is looking to get scrapped where he or she sits.

But sometimes these numerous survivors will gather about and begin collecting debris to form small settlements made from junk. Most of these locations will remain small as they get either abandoned, raided by bandits, or in rare instances, get devoured by a swarm of Insecticons. But in some occasions, settlers who remain committed to their garbage camps and defend it bravely from the dangers of the Scraplands may see their homes grow into urban outposts and relay destinations.

The Plutonium Plaza is one such settlement that has become an open hub for travellers to come and go. It is iconic for its impressive size as well as its distinct loop shape for which it has gotten the nickname "Ring City". The Plutonium Plaza began as any other settlement with its own handful of survivors working together, but as it stood the test of time and opposition, it became a well known destination for all kinds of unusual characters to show their faces. The large circle of buildings consisted of all kinds of shops. Whatever a Scrapland survivor needed on their journey, they would most likely find it somewhere along the wall of condensed buildings. It was and still is an ideal destination for travelling merchants and caravans to decorate the broad space of sand within the Plaza perimeter.

But Plutonium Plaza was not without its own little war going on within. Being an open settlement to all who entered, it was at a constant risk of unpleasant individuals looking for trouble. The only thing holding back an overflow of chaos was the local law enforcement that listened to none other than the master and founder of the Plaza.

There were numerous open entryways lining the wall around the Plaza, and outside one of these is where Hellfire stood. Numerous faces of rusted steel and broken metal lumbered past him, coming in and out of the Plaza. It has been about half a day since hellfire had butchered that cluster of Cultists back in the canyons. He was certain that more would be sent after him by that cowardly traitor named Boneyard. Hellfire snarled at the mere thought of the bot as he passed through the large entrance.

Numerous rusted figures, some in proud groups with their own gang insignia painted on their armour, others with lumbering mechanical pack beasts adorned various trinkets strapped to their hull. This crowd stretched out across the massive canvas that made up the inside of the Hub. Here and there, a Plaza Guard covered in black and silver armour could be seen walking about with either a harpoon cannon or an EMP baton. Some of these guards would take to the air in Helicopter alternate forms and remain above the crowd, watching for troublemakers to subdue.

Hellfire traversed the inside of the Ring City, on occasion noticing a couple of funny looks here and there from those familiar with his reputation. One sight that bothered Hellfire particularly was an old timer standing on a hunk of debris with a loose crowd gathered around him. A tunic of metal plates hid the figure's legs while a tall, round crest decorated the figure's head like a bishop's hat. The old timer had both hands raised high in the air as he spoke with a blazing passion.

 _"_ _And ONLY through He, the One and Infinite! The One true Prime, can we find SALVATION! We live within a beast, my brothers and sisters! This beast will swallow us into the eternal, crimson rust if we do not CONVERT!"_

Some figures rolled their optics and departed while others remained and listened to the passionate words of the Megatronus preacher as he poured his very spark into every word.

 _"_ _CHILDREN! Children... The day comes ever closer for thee. The day of reckoning comes ever closer for each and every one of thee... If it is salvation you seek, then PLEDGE your sparks to He, MEGATRONUS PRIME! Pledge yourselves to the GOD PRIME and the gleaming platinum gates of DARKMOUNT will open to you! The Faithful will DRINK in Holy Glory-"_

The Propaganda of the Cultist grew distant as Hellfire moved away from the annoyance, going around the area to reach the specific building he came to visit.

* * *

Large discs that sprout from the floor acted as tables for the many grunge covered scavengers occupying them. A series of whispers, mumbles, and belly laughs gave a crowded white noise to the preferred destination of shady business.

Hellfire kept his face low and his voice silent as he passed by the many tables. Every sound made by these broken buffoons picked at the cranial systems of Hellfire, a swarm of pests to his already fragile sense of patience. Hellfire swam through the sea of a dozen distractions and finally made it to one of the back tables, and sat across from the bot of business he came to see.

The stranger was mostly concealed with an old, dark cloak. His hands were the only part of him not concealed by his reaper-like attire as they rested calmly on the table. His right hand was likely severed long ago for Hellfire noticed a large, steel hook had been welded together in its place. Two, emerald optics opened inside the cavernous dark of the figure's hood, adding to the spectral presentation.

With a tap against the table with his hook and a chuckle from inside the hood, the figure finally broke the ice between him and his table guest. _"Well. Quite a privilege to see the hunter in real steel! Safe trip?"_ The gruff but calm voice asked.

 _"_ _You wanted to talk?"_ Hellfire asked coldly, cutting right through any small talk. _"I'm here, so let's spit it."_ The Hooded being gave another chuckle before replying.

 _"_ _Rumor out west has it that the mighty Hellfire is looking for new metal to make up for the past."_ The Being in the hood raised his hand and hook, gesturing to himself. _"Well. Here I am. New metal. What do ya say?"_

Hellfire shook his monstrous head side to side before responding. _"You've heard those rumors alright. But you only half understand them. I ain't look'n for new metal. I'm look'n for a Boltrider."_

 _"_ _Well as far as I've noticed, you are the only Boltrider around, Hellfire. There is such a thing as recruitment, ya know."_ The hooded figure protested.

 _"_ _Well if you wanted the bot who took recruits, that bot is long gone. All that's left of him is this."_ Hellfire said as he pointed to the rusty forearm of his that held his Chainsaw within.

The Figure in the hood didn't speak. And with that, Hellfire gave a raspy sigh as he raised himself from his seat. Annoyance plagued him for his time and resources to get to this meeting had been a waste. All because some nobody tin-head believed he could compare to the infamous gang that once was. Hellfire didn't bother to farewell the other bot. Instead he simply made his way back, past the various different low lives at their own business and left out the door.

As soon as Hellfire left the large shack, he realized that the area around the building was no longer occupied by any kind of merchants or travellers. Anything except several of the Ring City Guards, surrounding the area about the entrance he just exited. Each of them with their weaponry pointed right at his face. The brutal fighter curled his fists as he scanned his four optics across the chain of guards that closed him in.

 _"_ _What the fuck is this all about?"_ he demanded.

 _"_ _Hellfire."_ One of the guards said. _"You are a wanted Outlaw in a number of Settlements across the Scraplands. You are no longer welcome in the Plutonium Plaza as a free traveller."_

 _"_ _And why is it only NOW that you care about my history? I've come and gone through your precious plaza on a number of occasions. What makes this trip any different from the damn rest of them?"_

 _"_ _Things change."_ A voice said from behind Hellfire.

The Outlaw was kicked hard in the back between much of the debris that decorates it. His frame fell onto the sand where a collection of rifle barrels pointed towards his head. But this never bothered Hellfire. He would teach every last one of these imbeciles a lesson about choosing battles.

But before Hellfire could make any further action, a metal boot stomped aggressively onto his left elbow, plunging his arm into the sand. The Outlaw suddenly felt a fierce jolt of pain run up his mechanical arm as something dug into his forearm, and tore the outer plates open.

Hellfire realized to his horror that whoever had pushed him down was now tearing his chainsaw right out from his arm. And just as Hellfire was finally finding the strength to retaliate against the one that pinned him down, something hit him fast and hard in the head, sending him in an involuntary power-down.


	3. Hellfire III: Decepticon Hierarchy

A loud cracking sound echoed throughout the room as the Soldier's faceplate collided with the ground. The rest of the Decepticon soldiers watched as one of their own were thrown to the floor of the barracks by the bot in charge. The Larger individual covered in a mix of black, silver, and purple was the Outpost commander known as Motormaster. As far as this Decepticon commander was concerned, all of the soldiers among his outpost were a cluster of rabid Steeljaw hounds that had to be bruised back in line from time to time. The Decepticon on the floor was a battered scout named Hellfire, who had placed an energon rifle in the wrong weapon storage. Once Motormaster had gotten wind of this, he immediately made sure class was in session and that the rest of Hellfire's comrades were here to witness the display of humiliation. The Runt pushed himself off of the floor with a grunt of pain. His faceplate was barely attached over his mouth, with only a single bolt keeping it attached. Now a useless part of his chassis, Hellfire winced as he yanked the faceplate off and tossed it aside. His many teeth and four orange optics now revealed his true and menacing visage. Motormaster kicked him in the side, sending the Decepticon at the foot of his peers. The imposing force bent down onto one knew and picked up the dented faceplate, holding it up for the rest of the soldiers to see it. _"_ _When I say keep the weapons in order, you better damn make sure you get those fucking weapons in ORDER! Is that understood?"_ Motormaster said with a deep and hollow voice that towered over any self esteem in these drones. _"If it weren't for me, you'd all be eating sand and rust flakes out there with the animals of this rock!"_ Motormaster stood up and left the room after scowling at the crew before him. The fading sound of his stomps marked his departure of the area. Hellfire now stood amongst the crowd that had been watching the display. " _Always hated that bot."_ One of them mumbled. _"_ _Hated him before I ever met him."_ Another added. _"What I'd give for someone to teach that bot a lesson of his own. Even if we get our T-Cogs ripped out after."_ _"_ _And that can happen."_ A smooth and aged voice said from behind the crowd. The group of Decepticon soldiers turned around to see one of their own, sitting on one of the benches, cleaning a long chainsaw in the shape of a sword. A figure decked out in pale green and gold, his red optics still fixed on his weapon. " _Motormaster may be a tough bot. But he's also an old timer. He ain't invincible. If you mean what you say, then listen carefully."_


End file.
